


Your Kiss

by Anaamikaa



Series: Alive Back From The Dead [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Companion Piece, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-11 10:01:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7043665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anaamikaa/pseuds/Anaamikaa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For those of you who haven't read the parent fic Alive Back from The Dead, this won't make aaany sense. Also, the title is misleading but it's been named so because it fits with the theme. (I put this in the summary to prevent any accidental stumble-upons)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Kiss

* * *

 

 

     “I wasn’t expecting you,” Thompson begins when Sherlock storms into her office. “But I believe I know why you’re here.”

     “ _You did this,”_ Sherlock seethes, walking towards her.

     “Don’t sound so accusatory. Is it not better that everything is out in the open now?” Thompson asks lightly. Now that the confession's been done, Thompson thinks she can finally have a good night's sleep.

     “Humph," Sherlock stuffs his hands in his pockets. This is the first time she has seen him  _grumpy._

     “Wait a minute,” She straightens up. “What happened exactly? What made you contact me?”

     Sherlock raises his nose in the air, eyes looking down upon her in a rather poor show of haughtiness.

     “She expressed herself.”

     “Oh!”

     “Physically.”

     “ _What?”_

     “You heard me quite clearly."

     “She hit you again?” Thompson asks, a hand on her sternum. Maybe they should have begun with anger management sessions, she thinks.

     “Of course not,” he enunciates slowly, spitting every word out through his teeth.

_What? Does he have to spell everything out for this woman?_

     “Ahem ahem,” Sherlock clears his throat loudly in preparation and then abruptly stops when he realizes that he sounds like a mixed version of Mycroft as well as Joan.

     “Joan...kissed me,” he murmurs, hating how softly the words come off his tongue. As if he was cherishing having to say them. So what if she did? It was hardly the _first_ time anyone had kissed him.

 _But the first time_ Joan _did._

     He knocks out that cackling voice in his head.

     To his horrific surprise, Thompson begins to laugh.

     “ _What_ is the _matter_ with you?” He growls, leaning forward threateningly in his seat.

     The gesture, well-practiced to ensure confessions from weak-hearted criminals, seems to fail drastically on her.

     “I am sorry, sorry,” she raises a palm to placate him. “It’s just that—what do you want from _me_ after this?”

     Sherlock knows that his lips are jutting out in what Joan always calls a pout (which it is _not)_ but thinking about Joan looking at his lips makes him think of Joan kissing them and that very thought has proven to turn him into a delicate shade of pink (Mycroft deduced by the mere colour of his face, unfortunately) so he hastily purses his lips instead.

     “She left,” he states, deadpan.

     “I still do not see why you came to me.”

     “To draw the next plan of action, of course,” he says, tilting his head curiously.

     Why else would he seek her?

     “Plan of action,” She huffs in amusement. Then she opens her mouth, readying herself for a long lecture of how she cannot advise him, but can merely suggest and it has to be him who decides on a course of action when she gets an idea.

     “Well...why don’t we start with what you think of her actions?” She smiles.

     Sherlock wonders why he hadn’t asked himself the same question earlier. He had...liked it. But then again, everybody liked gestures of intimacy.

     “I wasn’t averse to it.”

     Thompson grins widely.

     “Why don’t you take a seat?”

     It was going to be a long session.

     “How would you feel if she were to repeat said action?”

     Sherlock frowns. “That would be unnecessary.”

     “Unnecessary?” Now Thompson’s the one confused. How is Sherlock looking at Joan’s move?

     “Well, yes. She did it to make a point. Point made and understood by the receiver. Hence: unnecessary.”

     “And...what point was that?” She asks, utterly baffled.

     Sherlock just eyes her condescendingly, not elaborating at all.

     “Are you sure you’ve studied human psychology, counsellor?” He asks, eyes narrowed.

     Thompson gapes at him in disbelief and then shakes her head, remembering that Sherlock was a client who required her to be especially patient. Mycroft was right. Joan did a great job of keeping him on a leash.

     “Do you want to get her back or not?” She raises an eyebrow.

     Sherlock only nods, a look of distaste on his features.

     “How long has it been since she left?”

     “Three weeks, two days,” he answers instantly.

     "What on earth were you doing for this long?" She questions.

     "I assumed she would come back as she always does," he begins, his words quick and sharp. But Thompson senses the anxiety behind them.

     "She has not come back. Yet. I'm still waiting," he speaks, brushing lint off his coat sleeve. 

     “Then we need to get to work,” she says. "But, Sherlock, are you sure you won't change your mind about her this time?"

     "Of course," he retorts.

     "Then what did you do that made her leave in the first place?"

     His face sets into grim lines as he speaks. "You are aware of what happened. She was hospitalized. Because of Moran. Because she was reckless enough to go into battle without a weapon."

     "I think you should have understood her motives before you pushed her away. I think she already tried to explain it to you," Thompson sighs.

     "Joan Watson's safety is my priority. And living apart, devoid of any contact is the best way we could have had that."

     "And yet you are here, looking for a way to convince her to come back?" She asks, raising both her eyebrows.

     The man was practically a pendulum with all of that indecisiveness.

     "I cannot possibly ensure her safety if she is that far away. I could have asked Mycroft for surveillance but—"

     "But you don't want to be indebted to her even more. I understand. First step to persuading Joan, is complete honesty. You shall tell her exactly what you told me."

     Thompson sees him get ready to protest but she raises a finger to silence him.

     "No buts, Holmes. If you've come to me for help—"

     "Advice."

     "Advice," Thompson concedes, almost managing to not roll her eyes, "then you listen to me without a single word of protest. Understood?"

     His reluctance is palpable as he nods.

     “What you need is back-up,” she continues.

     “Back-up?”

     “An incentive,” Thompson grins. “Is she allergic to animal fur?”

 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Because we both know that Sherlock also needs help sometimes.


End file.
